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My Mother's Kitchen.
A little place by size;
Filled with plenty of vivid memories that apprize,
Her pots produced aroma that do not seize;
Evoking stomach rumblings that do not ease.
Spoons that soothed the smiles of the broken;
Hearts and souls, caused to rejoice beyond her ken,
Gleaming bowls that provoke one's hope;
Imagining the food along the throat that lope.
Her teacups grants solace to one's sorrows,
And bask from one's afterglows;
Teakettle and bowls filled with overwhelming kindness–
That correlates with their avidness.
Her kitchen bears gentle dishcloths–
That wipe away unclean broths.
Her door is blushing from halting the aroma,
Later coercing her kitchen to coma.
Her kitchen stove gave birth to many hands,
Even brought infants to unreachable islands;
Merely living in drought and scablands,
But her kitchen was able to deliver viands.
15th Oct. 2021.
© Lubabalo Sayo
Filled with plenty of vivid memories that apprize,
Her pots produced aroma that do not seize;
Evoking stomach rumblings that do not ease.
Spoons that soothed the smiles of the broken;
Hearts and souls, caused to rejoice beyond her ken,
Gleaming bowls that provoke one's hope;
Imagining the food along the throat that lope.
Her teacups grants solace to one's sorrows,
And bask from one's afterglows;
Teakettle and bowls filled with overwhelming kindness–
That correlates with their avidness.
Her kitchen bears gentle dishcloths–
That wipe away unclean broths.
Her door is blushing from halting the aroma,
Later coercing her kitchen to coma.
Her kitchen stove gave birth to many hands,
Even brought infants to unreachable islands;
Merely living in drought and scablands,
But her kitchen was able to deliver viands.
15th Oct. 2021.
© Lubabalo Sayo
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